


Pump It

by messofthejess



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, Hand Jobs, Loud Sex, Lube, Sex in a Motel, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messofthejess/pseuds/messofthejess
Summary: Stein and Marie have been in a car with their friends for hours on end. It's only natural once they get to the motel that they have some, ah, unwinding to do.
A.K.A. the smutty sequel to DollyPop's "Pedal to the Heavy Metal" that no one asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DollyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pedal to the Heavy Metal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325538) by [DollyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop). 



            This is the last fucking time they let Sid book anything. _How_ he thought that six college students would be able to share two motel rooms without someone complaining about the arrangement was beyond Stein’s comprehension. In Sid’s defense, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Azusa, normally their social group’s planner extraordinaire, had fallen head over heels for the chronically busy pre-med student Nygus, and had barely managed to stop sucking face long enough to get in the car at the beginning of this trip, let alone book a one-night stay at a semi-decent motel off the freeway.

            That was another thing to credit Sid for: he found them all a place that didn’t look like it was overrun by cockroaches and body odor. All the neon was lit up on the sign outside. The front desk clerk looked like he owned at least two other shirts and wasn’t living in one of the vacant rooms. There was a bank of vending machines, and a woman in a blue PepsiCo polo actually restocking the cans in one of them. All in all, not too shabby.

            Not that it matters much to Stein, though. He’s just dying for some privacy. He was not designed to be crammed in a driver’s seat for hours on end—Nygus had tag-teamed with him, of course, but the driver’s seat at least had something that could pass for leg room—and most certainly not socialized to spend so much time in close quarters with five other people. It was why he shambled into the bathroom with the grace of a drunken giraffe as soon as he and Marie made it into the room and slammed the door behind him perhaps a little harder than necessary. He’d heard Marie tell Spirit to piss off, he wasn’t bunking in _their_ room (a simple possessive pronoun should not make his heart stutter like an out-of-tune engine), then light taps on the meager wooden door.

            “Stein?” Marie asks quietly. “You okay?”

            “Yeah. Yes,” he replies from his seat on the closed toilet lid. Because really, he is okay. Space is just something he requires, but he’s unsure how to articulate that need without sounding like an asshole. He’s alone so much as it is already—he doesn’t need to turn into a complete hermit, despite how that would greatly increase his efficiency at studying.

            “Well, come out whenever you’re ready. I’ll just be watching TV.”

            Bless Marie. She was probably the only person at Shibusen U that could claim to actually understand him at least a little. Spirit ran a close second when he wasn’t pickled out of his gourd or had his arms draped over giggly, busty co-eds, but the man just had a knack for all things social as it was. It was at this past Halloween party at Spirit’s ridiculously oversized house that Stein and Marie had started their relationship—that is, if one could call smearing face paint all over each other during their first kiss starting a relationship. Stein preferred to think the actual start was the morning after, when they were both a little more sober and holding hands over a cheap diner breakfast. Still, Spirit deserved _some_ credit for bringing them together. About 12.5%, by Stein’s calculations.

            He was stalling, no bathroom pun intended. Marie was sitting out there on the bed, probably flicking through the channels ad nauseam, and he was cooped up in here because he was, as Azusa had dubbed him, a certified weenie. Stein grips the side of the sink (real porcelain, goddamn), hauls himself up, and splashes some water on his face. Get a grip, honestly.

            He walks out to the motel room proper, where Marie is indeed sitting cross-legged on the bed. Left side, of course; her right eye is the better of the two ever since that cheer accident. She must have changed while he was in the bathroom, because he can see her sleep shorts peeking out from under her hoodie. _His_ hoodie, one of many she’s stolen from him. This particular one is his favorite—dark grey with black stitches zig-zagging all across it—and he’s not even one to get attached to articles of clothing. It looks better on her, though. All of his clothes seem to look better on her.

            “Why is _Jeopardy!_ on at 10:30 at night?” she mumbles to herself as he sits on the bed, springs squeaking. “Who is getting their quiz show freak on at this hour?”

            “I am,” Stein answers, by way of breaking the ice.

            “You would,” Marie huffs, tossing the remote back on the nightstand and thrusting her hands into the too-deep kangaroo pouch of his (her) hoodie.

            “Want to play?”

            The eye roll she gives him is exaggerated but playful. “Why not?”

            He kicks off his massive shoes and settles up on the bed next to her, one hand resting on his stomach and the other on the dusty, faded blue comforter.  Her smaller hand eventually snakes out of her pocket to meet his, and she squeezes every time she goes for one of the clues on screen like his hand is a buzzer.

            “Cesium. C’mon, it’s cesium!” she cries.

            “No, it’s ‘What _is_ cesium?’” Stein corrects her with a smug grin. When Alex Trebek confirms the correct response was Stein’s, Marie rolls over on her side toward him, pouting.

            “It has to be in the form of a question, Marie,” he shrugs.

            “Your face is the form of a question.”

            “Come again?”

            “Only if you finger me first,” she mutters into her hoodie.

            Stein’s ears burn bright pink, and he desperately wishes he had something to tug up and over them so Marie can’t see in the flickering light of the TV. If only he was wearing something with a hood. Something like the hoodie that she’s currently wearing. It’s _his_ (really hers now) after all.

            “I think you have something of mine,” he says, reaching over and tugging on her (definitely her) sleeve.

            “Mmm.”

            “Could I have it back, please?”

            “Come and get it.”

            That phrase should not be so arousing, yet it is. He should not feel like his jeans are suddenly too tight, or that the room is twenty degrees warmer. Maybe he should get up to check the thermostat—it’s possible the air conditioning is on the fritz—but certain other parts of his anatomy have decided to get up at the moment that would make walking difficult. And the way Marie is giving him the seductive side-eye makes him want to both melt into the mattress and launch through the ceiling.

            Stein compromises. He tugs Marie over to him with an adorable squeak from her, brushes her hood down, and gives her the lightest of kisses on the cheek. The squeak turns into an annoyed grunt, and she fists the front of his shirt and plants a firmer kiss right on his lips (the man has finally, _finally_ found the business end of a Chapstick). Dammit, she rode shotgun with him for nearly twelve fucking hours and had to deal with pangs of jealousy every time a bead of sweat traced down his neck because that should be her tracing down his neck and lower, lower, lower until he gasped, and not just because he got a charley horse in his calf from pressing the accelerator for too long.

            She might be more than a little horny.

            He cups the back of her head and strokes through her blonde hair while he opens his mouth to her, pressing her closer with a hand on the small of her back. Marie slips her tongue in and explores, moaning into his mouth, hands gripping both of his shoulders. She pushes her hips down on him in a slow grind, and she opens her eye just enough to see Stein tilt his head back and groan obscenely loud, her tongue slipping out from between his lips with a wet pop.

            “Marie,” he sighs as she seizes the chance to kiss along his jaw and down to his neck. He sucks the meat of his lower lip into his teeth when she bites down on his pulse, sucking hard and surely leaving a mark that will be very, very hard to explain away come morning. “Marie.”

            “Hmm?” she mumbles against his throat.

            “Your turn.” He wraps his arm around her waist and rolls her so he’s hovering over her body, and he immediately sets to work on her neck, alternating between hard nips and soft breaths to cool the sting. She cries out, arching up to him, and he hears her fumble around on the nightstand for the remote to click the TV off. It occurs to him that their friends are only a thin dividing wall away and can likely hear them. It then occurs to him that he doesn’t give a shit. All that really matters right now is pleasing his girlfriend, and doesn’t the color pink look so lovely blooming across her face?

            He slides a hand up under her sweatshirt, under her sleep shirt, to her breasts. Speaking of hard nips, indeed. He gives one a pinch, just to see her jump, and she presses herself even tighter against him, fragments of his name bubbling out of her lips. His large hand palms her breast easily, and he gives her gentle squeezes while he returns to her mouth, their noses bumping.

            “Stein?” she whispers as they rest their foreheads together.

            “Hmm?”

            “Can I—?” Marie’s hand finishes the question, snaking down, down, down the visible silver treasure trail from where his shirt rode up over his stomach and palming over his hardness.

            Oh. _Oh._ Normally she was the one to get off first. Marie had been pleasantly and pleasurably surprised when he’d asked to go down on her their first time together; her past boyfriends, if they’d gotten that far, hadn’t been so considerate. And Stein would be lying if he didn’t enjoy watching her come undone first with his fingers before he slid so sinfully smooth into her. But if she was offering…well, he’s not about to say no.

            “Yes. _Yes_ ,” he sighs, and before he can say anything else, she’s worming out from underneath him and looping the sweatshirt over her head. She tosses it off the edge of the bed, and God, he’s never been one for ogling, but he can’t help but drink in the sight of her. The blush had crept down from her face all the way across her ample chest, and her nipples were still hard little mounds. Marie still has her sleep shorts on, yet he can still appreciate the wide flare of her hips and her luscious thighs as she kneels next to him. He’s very tempted to say no to her offer, slip under the waistband of her shorts (consensually, of course), and bring her to sobs with just his fingers. Sorely tempted. But the way she’s looking at him right now, her stomach rising and falling with little sighs, is pushing him closer and close to the edge. He whips off his glasses to avoid sending them flying across the motel room and tugs his shirt off, lamenting that he has to break eye contact even momentarily.

            Marie struggles with the button on his jeans for a good minute until she huffs and raises an eyebrow at him, and he has to suppress a laugh while he unbuttons and unzips. The laugh dies in his throat when she tugs his boxers down his legs and catches sight of something glittering on his length.

            “Is this new?” she asks, tracing a finger around the silver barbell pierced through the head.

            He sucks in a hard breath, because god _damn_ is he sensitive right now. All he can offer in response is a half-shrug that he hopes passes for a yes. Marie hums in delight and wraps her hands around the base of him, pumping slowly up his shaft, and Stein feels like he might spurt out on her bare chest if he isn’t careful. He fists the sheets and bites back a groan, blushing hard.

            “Oh, Frank. You’re so _hard_ ,” Marie sighs, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. This time, he does groan with abandon and press his head back into the pillows. She strokes up and down once, twice, three times, still achingly slow. “You’ve been so tense all day—I saw it in the car. And you want me to help you relax, don’t you?”

            He nods until he realizes she’s probably expecting a verbal response. “ _Yes._ Marie…”

            “Ooh, almost forgot.” Her touch leaves him, and Stein almost whimpers. Him, the Frank Stein that makes everyone on the quad at Shibusen part like the Red Sea when he comes walking by, whimpering because his girlfriend’s hands aren’t on him. When exactly did he get so needy? Maybe he’s always been this way, and Marie has just unlocked this side of him with their first kiss.

            “I brought this along,” she twiddles a tube of warming lube in one hand, a fiendish grin on her face, and Lord, he should just propose to her here and now. To hell with propriety and wearing pants and such. He hears the tiny squirt from the tube, the clap of Marie’s hands rubbing together, and then her touch on him again. Fuck, he is going to die. He is going to die happy with the very capable hands of his girlfriend wrapped around him. What a way to go.

            “ _Marie_ ,” he sighs her name like a prayer. His own hands itch to touch her, and he summons the strength from somewhere to push up to his elbows. The look on her face is almost comically studious as she slicks him from base to tip, pumping with purpose. She doesn’t notice he’s sat up until he strokes over her hair again and nudges her chin up for a kiss.

            “Stein,” she breathes over his lips, kissing him and still continuing to pump. “You’re getting closer. I can feel it.”

            “Ride me.”

            “W-what?”

            His fingertips leave her jaw and trace down her side, down to the waistband of her sleep shorts. Even with his glasses off, he can still see the wetness between her legs spreading across the fabric. “It isn’t fair of me to leave you go like this. You need—ah!—a release.”

            “So do y—”

            He presses close so they’re chest to chest, his breath tickling her ear. “Would it help if I said please? _Bitte_ , Marie. _Reite mich._ ”

            She’s not sure whether it’s him speaking German or how coarse his voice gets when he does speak his native tongue, but she’s immediately wriggling out of her sleep shorts and tossing them to the floor, thankful to be rid of the wet cloth. He beckons her onto his lap, but before she can sink down onto his length, he slips a finger experimentally between her folds and she almost screams at the touch. She’s so wet her thighs are glistening; damn him, he’s right, she needs release. His thumb circles her clit and winds her up higher and higher until he slides out of her with a wet pop. He takes his finger into his mouth and sucks obscenely, not breaking eye contact. That should _not_ make her moan so damn loud, but it does.

            “Mmm. _Wie Honig,_ ” he smiles. They meet again for a kiss, just so she can taste herself on his tongue, and she grinds against his lap eagerly. He cups a hand around her ass and guides her opening over him, feeling her heat wash over him. “ _Jetzt fick mich._ ”

            Marie doesn’t need to be told twice in any language. She lets herself down on his length, moaning as the barbell rubs against her walls. God, the metal feels so good. _He_ feels incredible, and she tells him so, her cheek pressed up against his neck. With his hands on her hips, she starts up a wicked pace, bouncing on him like the world might end if she isn’t filled with him. It’s hard to tell where her noises end and his noises begin, both of them are so loud.

            “Stein!” she cries out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Please—I’m so close—”

            “Marie,” he groans against her. “Fuck, _Marie!_ ”

            “Can you two keep it down over there?!”

            Both of them freeze, Stein’s hands having magically migrated back to her ass. They stare at the flimsy wooden door that divides their room from the others, unable to blink.

            “We _get_ that you need your privacy—” Azusa shouts.

            “But some of us are trying to get it on with their girlfriend over here!” Nygus interrupts.

            “Oh God, Mira, why would you say that—”

            “And some of us are just trying to sleep!” Spirit chimes in.

            “What are we doing on the couch, then?” Sid asks.

            “WE’RE NOT SPOONING BY CHOICE, SID.”

            “Well, clearly I’ve misread the situation.”

            “Ya think?!”

            “In any case, keep your mating cries to a minimum, okay? That’s all we ask—Mira, _stop_ , that tickles—”

            Stein hazards a look over at Marie. The passionate flush that covered her face and chest before has blistered to an angry red; he swears he can hear electricity crackling in the air around them. Suddenly her pissed-off look transforms into a devious smirk, and she looks at him with something downright demonic gleaming in her eye.

            “I have an idea,” she says, and she leans in close to her boyfriend’s ear, whispering. When she pulls away, the pink blush has completely overtaken his body, and he shares her smirk.

            “ _Du bist wirklich ein Betthäschen,_ ” he growls with a playful nip to her throat. Carefully, he swings his legs over the side of the bed while keeping Marie in his lap. He stands and carries her over to the door, her creamy legs hiked up around his hips.

            “Ready?” he asks, pressing her back to the door.

            “Born ready,” she replies.

            And so they started up again, Stein fucking Marie ferociously against the door while both of them cried out in bliss, and their friends cried out in agony.

           

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone ask for this? No.  
> Did I happily write it anyway? Yes. Yes, I did.


End file.
